. 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

d^ap. dop^rtg^i If n. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



°K 11 !336 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 



FOR A WOMAN. 
A Novel. i6mo. $1.00. 
" I have just read it at a single sitting", for I could not leave it. 
It is a success, and I am sure the reading public will so regard 
it. It is piquant as well as pathetic, and, what is best of all, whole- 
some."— JOHN G. Whittier. 

A BOOK OF LOVE STORIES. 

One volume. i6mo. Price, $r.oo. 

'' Fresh and rlavorous as newly-gathered wood-strawberries. . . . 
Of the right length for reading in rocky nooks of the seashore, or 
bird-haunted orchards." — Portland Press. 

" Old-fashioned love-stories, healthy in sentiment, and told with 
entire freedom from intensity or exaggeration. . . . No one will lay 
down her book without being re-enforced in that fidelity to every- 
day relations which is the salvation of society." — Christian 
Union. 

AFTER THE BALL, HER LOVER'S FRIEND, 
AND OTHER POEMS. 

Two volumes in one. 

" Her verse embodies the very soul of cheer." — E. P.WHIPPLE. 

" With the music, there is to be felt in all her verse the spirit of 
purity, of innocence, of freshness, and youth." — HARRIET PRES- 
COTT SPOFFORD. 

THE TRAGEDY OF THE UNEXPECTED, 
AND OTHER STORIES. 

A Book of Short Stories. $1.25. 

" Her prose is almost as charming as her poetry, which is saying 
a great deal. Any one of the stories of her little book represents 
a half-hour of genuine enjoyment." — Boston Transcript. 

For sale by all booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt 
of price, by the publishers, 

TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston. 



New Songs and Ballads 



BY 



NORA PERRY 

AUTHOR OF "AFTER THE BALL." " FOR A WOMAN," ETC. 





BOSTON 
TICKNOR AND COMPANY 

1887 






Copyright, 188b, 
By Nora Perry. 



All rights reserved. 






John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



^ 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

The Old Year to the New 9 

Promise and Fulfilment 15 

The Secrets of the Spring 20 

March Winds 23 

April the Handmaiden 25 

The Song of May 29 

Roses 31 

The Day Lily 34 

Summer's Decay 36 

To-morrow 41 

Youth and Age 43 

Next Year 45 

From Darkness to Light 48 

Experience 50 

His Will for Ours , .' 52 

A Prayer 54 

Behind the Mask 56 

The Hidden Way 60 

The Cry of the Doubter 63 

Too Late 68 



Vi CONTENTS. 

Page 

Necessity 70 

Abraham Lincoln's Christmas Gift 73 

Wendell Phillips 76 

Contrast 81 

Cressid 86 

Henry of Navarre before Paris 90 

My Princess 95 

Under the Mistletoe 99 

King George's Towns 108 

The Christmas Gale 113 

The Famine 119 

Thanksgiving Day 122 

The Puritan Easter 127 

Why Doth it Come to Pass ? 139 

To-morrow at Ten 142 

A Question 148 

In the Crowd 150 

Abdicated 152 

On the Stairs 154 

Running the Blockade 159 

Delay 167 

Unattained t68 

Who Knows? 171 

Waiting 173 

A Girl of Girls 176 

The Princess's Holiday 180 

The Children's Cherry-Feast 188 



NEW SONGS AND BALLADS. 



THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. 

With hands full of gifts and cheeks like a rose, 
There you wait 
At my gate 
While my winter wind blows; 

And you laugh, as you stand there, a laugh full 

of scorn, 

At the sight 

Of the plight 

Of the graybeard forlorn, 



IO THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. 

And the stories he tells of the months that have 

sped: 

"What, I — I," 

You cry, 

" When my twelve months have fled, 

" To bend and to totter, to sigh and to shake, 
And like you 
There to rue 
The vows that I break? 



"Not I, oh, not I," you scornfully say; 
" I shall stand 
Where you stand, 
As blithe as to-day, 



THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. I T 

" When one after one my twelve months have 

sped; 

Not a fear, 

Not a tear, 

Shall I murmur or shed." 

So, my youngster, you laugh, as you stand 
there untried, 

As you wait 
At my gate 
In your ignorant pride. 

So I boasted and laughed when I stood in your 

place ; 

But to-day, 

Ah! to-day, 

At the end of my race, 



12 THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. 

I count up the gifts that I sold for a song. 
In that time 
Of my prime, 
When lusty and strong, 



My plans were so easy, my promises rife, 
And pleasure 
The measure 
And limit of life. 



But my easy-laid plans not so easily sped, 
And alas ! 
And alas ! 
Ere the twelve months had fled, 



THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. 1 3 

I found what my fine boasted wisdom was 

worth, 

And that haste 

Had made waste 

On my kingdom of earth. 

But what use for me here to counsel and pray, 
When you heed 
Not indeed 
A word that I say, 

When impatient you wait for my gate to un- 
close, 

With that air 

Debonair, 
And that cheek like a rose ! 



14 THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. 

Well, well, enter in — the gates are flung wide : 
There or here, 
God is near, 
Whatsoever betide. 



PROMISE AND FULFILMENT. 



When the February sun 

Shines in long slant rays, and the dun 

Gray skies turn red and gold, 

And the winter's cold 

Is touched here and there 

With the subtle air 

That seems to come 

From the far-off home 



l6 PROMISE AND FULFILMENT. 

Of the orange and palm, 
With their breath of balm, 
And the bluebird's throat 
Swells with a note 
Of rejoicing gay, 
Then we turn and say, 
" Why, Spring is near ! " 



II. 

When the first fine grass comes up 
In pale green blades, and the cup 
Of the crocus pushes its head 
Out of its chilly bed, 
And purple and gold 



Begins to unfold 



PROMISE AND FULFILMENT. \J 

In the morning sun, 

While rivulets run 

Where the frost had set 

Its icy seal, and the sills are wet 

With the drip, drip, drip, 

From the wooden lip 

Of the burdened eaves 

Where the pigeon grieves, 

And coos and woos, 

And softly sues, 

Early and late, 

Its willing mate, 

Then with rejoicing gay 

We turn and say, 

" Why, Spring is here ! " 



PROMISE AND FULFILMENT. 
III. 

When all the brown earth lies 

Beneath the blue bright skies, 

Clothed with a mantle of green, 

A shining, varying sheen, 

And the scent and sight of the rose, 

And the purple lilac-blows, 

Here, there, and everywhere, 

Meet one and greet one till 

One's senses tingle and thrill 

With the heaven and earth born sweetness, 

The sign of the earth's completeness, 

Then lifting our voices we say, 

" Oh, stay, thou wonderful day ! 

Thou promise of Paradise, 



PROMISE AND FULFILMENT. 1 9 

That to heart and soul doth suffice. 
Stay, stay ! nor hasten to fly 
When the moon of thy month goes by, 
For the crown of the seasons is here, — 
June, June, the queen of the year ! " 



THE SECRETS OF THE SPRING. 

COME out and hear the robins sing, 
And hear the bluebirds' tale of spring, 
And see the swallows on the wing. 

Come out and listen, listen low, 
And hear the grasses as they grow, 
And list the little winds that blow, 

And learn to read their secret well, — 
The secret that they softly tell 
To bird and bee in drowsy dell, 



THE SECRETS OF THE SPRING. 21 

Of bloomy banks that are to be, 
Of fragrant field and leafy tree, 
And all the summer mystery 

Of bud and blossom, flower and fruit, 
That quickens now in sap and root, 
And now in tender springing shoot. 

Come out, come out, the days are long, 
But Nature sings her secret song 
In secret ways, — the days are long; 



But swift as sweet from day to day, 
From hour to hour, the tuneful lay 
Runs headlong on a changeful way. 



22 THE SECRETS OF THE SPRING. 

Come out, then, in the early glow 
Of early springtime's bud and blow, — 
Come out and hear the grasses grow, 

And all the secrets of the spring 

That melt and murmur, speak and sing, 

To ears attuned to listening. 



MARCH WINDS. 

When rough and wild the March winds blow, 
Beneath the ice we look, and lo ! 
We see the brooks begin to flow. 

When wilder yet the wild winds sing, 
We hark and hear the bluebird ring 
His silver trumpet of the spring. 

No bitter winds can him dismay; 
Though icy currents check the way, 
He scents to-morrow in to-day. 



24 MARCH WINDS. 

He knows that what hath been shall be; 
He doth not wait as we to see 
The bloom and bud upon the tree, 

To measure out his joyful song; 
Though bud and bloom be hidden long, 
His faith is sure, his hope is strong. 



APRIL THE HANDMAIDEN. 

Let March have his say 

For a day — 
Crack his cheeks as he blows 

Wind and snows 
Over valley and hill 

At his will : 
Let March have his say; 

But one day, 
'Mid his winds and his snows, 

Ere he knows, 



26 APRIL THE HANDMAIDEN. 

He will hear my feet 

As they beat 
" On the dust of his hills, 

By his rills; 
He will see my face 

In its place, 
Through the mist and the dew 

Shining through. 
" What, you," he will shout, 

" Think to rout 
The lion in his path 

And his wrath? 
You, the handmaid of May, 

Think to stay 
My will and my power 

In this hour? " 



APRIL THE HANDMAIDEN. 2J 

Then on mountain and hill, 

Sharp and shrill, 
I shall hear the north 

Wind pouring forth 
In its might, to o'erthrow 

And lay low 
Me, the handmaid of May, 

On my way. 
But swift I shall leap, 

As from sleep, 
And blow from my mouth 

The sweet south, 
And drench the dry plain 

With my rain; 
And to conquer at length 

All the strength 



28 APRIL THE HANDMAIDEN. 

Of my foolish fierce foe 

I '11 let go 
All the warmth of my soul, 

As I roll 
Back the veil I had spun 

From the sun. 
Then I look for my foe, 

And lo! 
Nor on mountain or plain 

Will he reign ; 
But somewhither, somewhere, 

On the air, 
I shall hear his " Godspeed and good-day, 

O handmaid of May ! " 



THE SONG OF MAY. 

MARCH and April, go your way ! 
You have had your fitful day; 
Wind and shower, and snow and sleet, 
Make wet walking for my feet, — 

For I come unsandalled down 
From the hillsides bare and brown ; 
But wherever I do tread, 
There I leave a little thread 

Of bright emerald, softly set . 
Like a jewel in the w r et; 



30 THE SONG OF MAY. 

And I make the peach-buds turn 
Pink and white, until they burn 

Rosy red within their cells; 
Then I set the bloomy bells 
Of the flowery alder ringing, 
And the apple-blossoms swinging 

In a shower of rosy snow, 
As I come and as I go 
On my gay and jocund way, — 
I, the merry Princess May. 



ROSES. 

Blow, roses, blow 
Your pink and snow, 
Your gold and red, 
Ere June hath fled. 

Your time is brief 
For bud and leaf; 
But in your hour 
Of perfect flower, 

Who doth not wait 
Upon your state; 



32 ROSES. 

Who doth not own 
That you alone 

Hold Beauty's dower 
From flower to flower, 
And reign alone 
On Beauty's throne? 

What though your stay 
Be but a day? 
Your bloom and breath 
Survive your death, 

Haunt all the year, 
So sweet, so dear 
You made the day 
Of your brief stay. 



roses. 33 

So, seeming dead, 
Some brief lives shed 
After their close 
Sweets like the rose. 



THE DAY LILY. 

JUST for a day, for a day 

I break into bloom, — 
Just for a day, for a day 

I shed my perfume. 

Just for a day, for a day — 

" Alack and alas, 
How fleeting and brief thy stay ! " 

They cry as I pass. 

But, fleeting and brief, I give 
The wealth of my soul, 



THE DAY LILY. 35 

Just for the day that I live, 
Without stint or control. 

What more can a life bestow, 

Though it last but a day, 
Than all of its warmth and glow 

Ere it passes away? 



SUMMER'S DECAY. 

WHEN my first roses shed 
Their petals, and lay dead, 
I knew my foe Decay 
Had struck at my sweet day 
Of summer breath and bloom. 
I heard my knell of doom 
Sung by the sighing trees 
With every wandering breeze. 

And then and there I seemed 
To see as one who dreamed 



SUMMER'S DECAY. 37 

A long procession pass 
Across the springing grass, — 
Sweet ghosts of the dead flowers 
That bloomed in last year's hours. 
And stately at the head, 
All clad in white and red, 



Shedding their dewy scent, 
My fair June darlings went; 
And following after, stept 
My lilies, who had kept 
Their garments white as snow, 
While their warm hearts did glow 
With all the golden fire 
That summer suns inspire. 



38 SUMMER'S DECAY. 

All blooms and blossoms fair 

Followed and followed there, 

Until I did behold, 

White as the stars, and cold, 

My pale chrysanthemums pass; 

And then I knew, alas ! 

The end had come; and knew, 

While still the warm winds blew, 



My darlings of to-day 
Like this were on their way 
To join the ghostly throng; 
Like this would move along, 
Pale visions, dead and dear, 
To haunt another year. 



SUMMER'S DECAY. 39 

Shuddering, I moaned and wept, 
And in that moment crept 

Shadows of storm and night 
Across my summer light. 
"What is my summer pride?" 
Moaning, I wept and cried ; 
"Why do I hold my way, 
If only to decay? " 
Then suddenly I heard 
Amid my boughs a bird 

Lifting a heavenly voice. 
" Rejoice, and yet rejoice," 
He sang, and sang again: 
" Out of this earth-bound pain, 



40 SUMMER'S DECAY. 

Out of this dread decay, 
I lift my heavenly lay." 
Higher and higher still, 
Sweet with a sweeter thrill, 

Lifted that heavenly song. 
Borne on its wings along, 
I saw the bloom and birth 
Of the new heaven and earth ; 
And all my flowery host, 
Each sweet departing ghost, 
Seemed in my ears to sing, 
" No fair and beauteous thing, 
Nothing of precious cost, 
Nothing we love, is lost." 



TO-MORROW. 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, 

Oh, fair and far away 
What treasures lie, when hope is high 

Along your shining way. 

What promises fulfilled, 

What better deeds to do 
Than ever yet, are softly set 

Beneath your skies of blue. 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, 
Oh, sweet and far away, 



42 TO-MORROW. 

Still evermore lead on before 
Along your shining way. 

Still evermore lift up our eyes 
Above what we have won, 

To higher needs, and finer deeds 
That we have left undone. 



YOUTH AND AGE. 

" So slow, so slow/' one cried, 
" The hours creep by ! " 

" So swift, so swift," one sighed, 
" The short years fly ! " 

" So sweet, so sweet," one sang, 
" These days of bloom ! " 

" So brief, so brief! " out rang 
A voice of doom. 

One lifted, as she sung, 
A summer face, 



44 YOUTH AND AGE. 

Gold-crowned and fair and young, 
With summer's grace. 

One turned a weary head, 

With backward gaze, 
Toward the sunset red 

Of dying days. 



NEXT YEAR. 

" Next year, next year ! " we say, 

When come to nought 
Our plans and projects gay, 

Our bright dreams, fraught 

With brighter hopes, that shine 

On that far rim 
Of life's horizon line, 

Where dreams lie dim 

And touched with morning dew, — 
" Next year, next year ! " 



46 NEXT YEAR. 

And while we plan anew, 
The days grow sere, 

The year has fled, and lo ! 

We Ve left behind 
The glory and the glow 

We hoped to find, 

And missed again the clew 
We meant to heed, — 

The cherished plan to do 
Some cherished deed. 

" Next year, next year ! " 
Oh, why not now, 

Delaying soul, this year 
Keep word and vow? 



NEXT YEAR. 47 

Oh, why not now and here, 

Why not to-day, 
Before another year 

Shall run away, 

Keep word and faith or ere 

An hour's delay; 
Make good the promise fair, 
To-day, to-day? 



FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 

Where is the promise of the day 
I thought was mine but yesterday? 

Turned cold and gray, 

Fled quite away, 
No remnant can I find, no blessed ray 

To cheer me with its faint fair light 
Through the dark gathering night, 

That like a blight 

Seems from my sight 
To shut out hope, and leave in dull despite 



FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 49 

Hope's threatening demon, dread despair. 
But, as I make my moan, somewhere 

Through the thick air 

I hear — ah ! where ? — 
A tender voice that like a bell doth bear 

Comfort and hope unto my soul, — 
Comfort and hope and brave control. 

" Though clouds do roll, 

O fainting soul," 
It cries, " see, close at hand shines Heaven 
thy goal." 



EXPERIENCE. 

Sad is her voice, but sweet; 
Low doth she speak to greet 
Those that do come to meet 
And walk her ways. 

Low doth she speak, with stress 
That ofttimes pitiless 
Doth seem to new distress. 
But when the days 

Pass on to make the years, 
And, one by one, youth's fears 
And penalty of tears 

Begin to cease, 



EXPERIENCE. 5 1 

Then doth she turn and sing, 
" Courage ! for lo ! the King 
Cometh at last to bring 

Thy glad release ! " 



HIS WILL FOR OURS. 

If only I might go, 

And you could stay, 
Who love the world and know 

Your time to say 
The last good-by has come, — 

If only I 
Could find the heavenly home, 

Could drop and die 
For you, and you could meet 

From day to day 
This life that is so sweet 

To you, so gay 



HIS WILL FOR OURS. 53 

With earthly joys and gains, 

While mine is filled 
With losses and with pains, 

That leave me chilled 
And changed unto the core ! 

But while I stay, 
You go — thus evermore 

His will, His way, 
Not ours. But ours to wait, 

Patient and still, 
To learn that love, not hate, 

Follows His will. 



A PRAYER. 

ANOINT my eyes that I may see 
Through all this sad obscurity, 
This worldly mist that dims my sight, 
These crowding clouds that hide the light. 

Full vision, as perhaps have they 
Who walk beyond the boundary way, 
I do not seek, I do not ask, 
But only this, — that through the mask 



A PRAYER. 55 

Which centuries of soil and sin 
Have fashioned for us, I may win 
A clearer sight to show me where 
Truth walks with faith divine and fair. 



BEHIND THE MASK. 

" SHE speaks and smiles the old gay way, 
She is the same as yesterday," 
You turn and say; 

The same as yesterday, before 
The dark-winged angel at her door 
Entered and bore 

The treasure of her life away: 
"The same, the same as yesterday." 
And as you say 



BEHIND THE MASK. 57 

These questioning words with questioning tone, 
Apart from you and quite alone 
She makes her moan; 

Even as she stands before you there 
With all the old accustomed air, — 
The smiles that wear 

The mirthful mask of yesterday, — 
She stands alone and far away 
From yesterday. 

She stands alone and quite apart, 
With mirth and song her aching heart 
Has lot nor part. 



58 BEHIND THE MASK. 

The while you criticise her air 
Of gay response, pierced with despair 
She does not dare 

To speak aloud her bitterness, 
To tell you of her loneliness 
And sore distress. 



She does not dare to trust her woe 
To break its bonds, her tears to flow 
In outward show, 

Lest, like a giant in her life 
This woe should rise, to stronger life 
And fiercer strife. 



BEHIND THE MASK. 59 

So, wearing on her face the guise 
Of olden smiles, with tearless eyes 
She dumbly tries 

To lift her burden to the light, 
To live by faith and not by sight, 
And from the night 

Of new despair and wasting grief 
At last, at last to find relief 
Beyond belief. 



THE HIDDEN WAY. 

Oh, what was the way you took that day, 
That day that you went from me? 

You called me twice, and you called me thrice, 
I heard, but I could not see. 

I dared not look, for I could not brook 

To see my darling's face 
Take on some strange and terrible change 

That should mar its tender grace. 

You called me twice, and you called me thrice. 
My name was the very last 



THE HIDDEN WAY. 6 1 

On your lips that day, as you went that way, — 
A way I had followed fast, 

Oh, fast where'er my love did fare, 

If the hidden way I had known ; 
No fear had stayed, no doubts delayed, 

For I should have followed my own. 

Yet even then, ah, even then, 

When you called upon my name, 

You were out of reach of my touch or speech, 
And beyond my call or claim. 

But even then, ah, even then 

You 'd have turned to me, my dear, 

And left all heaven, had strength been given, 
To have shared my darkness here. 



62 THE HIDDEN WAY. 

But vain, oh, vain, and worse than vain, 

My agony or yours; 
Death sends no ray to light that way, 

Nor will, while Time endures. 



THE CRY OF THE DOUBTER. 

If we could go some day, 

Before Age claims us for his prey, 

Drop out of all this strife 

That we call life, 

And without coward fears, 

Or fainting flesh, or wasting tears, 

Find suddenly the land 

Of all our dreams, and stand 

There, face to face with treasure lost, 

The friends whose dread departure cost 

Our souls such sore distress, 

Such agonies of wretchedness, — 



64 THE CRY OF THE DOUBTER. 

If we could go like this, 
With consciousness of bliss 
Set full before us, who would stay 
To linger on the way 
Through weary year by year 
Till time was ripe and sere 
With length of days and loss? 
But set upon the cross 
Of mystery and pain 
We wait and wait again, 
Perhaps through threescore years 
Of doubting hopes and fears, 
And at the end we say, 
"Ah, what a little day 
Of joy is life, and long, oh, long, 
The day of pain." Then from the throng 



THE CRY OF THE DOUBTER. 6$ 

We drop away, while others sigh, 

Bending above our clay, and cry, 

As we have cried, " Why should we wait like this 

In darkness and in doubt; why miss 

So much of life in wasting pain?" 

O mystery of loss and gain, 

Behind your veil what answer lies? 

Is it some splendor of surprise 

That consciousness might here defeat, — 

Some joy too high for us to meet 

One moment even, face to face, 

While thus within earth's dull embrace, 

The fetters of the flesh, we stand? 

Are we upon the border-land 

Of greater life thus blindly driven, 

Lest if some sudden glimpse were given 

5 



66 THE CRY OF THE DOUBTER. 

Of that near heaven, we could not stay 

To wait upon Time's slow delay, 

But in some moment rash might break 

The bond of flesh, and boldly take 

Both law and life in eager hands, 

Part once for all these mortal bands 

To reach that glory, far, yet near, 

That we had glimpsed, — that radiant sphere 

That holds the payment of all pain? 

O mystery of loss and gain, 

Is this the meaning of it all, — 

The doubt, the darkness, and the pall 

That shuts us in? O Christ! O God! 

If once you rolled away the sod 

And lifted death to life for eyes 

Of earth — if once that high surprise 



THE CRY OF THE DOUBTER. 67 

You dared to give, for us once more, 
Who languish on this barren shore 
Of doubting times, whose blighting bale 
Has girt us round, lift up the veil, 
Roll back the sod, and give us grace 
To look beyond this narrow space ! 



TOO LATE. 

What silences we keep year after year 
With those who are most near to us and dear ! 
We live beside each other day by day, 
And speak of myriad things, but seldom say 
The full, sweet word that lies just in our reach, 
Beneath the commonplace of common speech. 

Then out of sight and out of reach they go, — 
These close familiar friends, who loved us so ; 
And, sitting in the shadow they have left, 
Alone with loneliness, and sore bereft, 



TOO LATE. 69 

We think with vain regret of some fond word 
That once we might have said and they have 
heard. 

For weak and poor the love that we expressed 
Now seems beside the vast, sweet ^expressed, 
And slight the deeds we did, to those undone, 
And small the service spent, to treasure won, 
And undeserved the praise for word and deed 
That should have overflowed the simple need. 

This is the cruel cross of life, — to be 

Full visioned only when the ministry 

Of death has been fulfilled, and in the place 

Of some dear presence is but empty space. 

What recollected services can then 

Give consolation for the " might have been"? 



NECESSITY. 

Gaunt-faced and hungry-eyed she waits, 
This sombre warder of our fates, 
Forever sleepless while we sleep, 
And silent while we moan and weep. 

Sometimes, beguiled by smiling skies 
And wooing winds, we shut our eyes, 
Forgetting for a little space 
That tireless, unforgetting face. 

Or, stirred as stirs the sap in spring 
By Nature's force, we laugh and sing, 



NECESSITY. 71 

Or run to pass that waiting shape 
With flying footsteps of escape. 

But where we run she leads the way, 
She goes before us night and day; 
No flying footsteps can escape, 
By any path, that sombre shape. 

Always she waits with whip and spur 
To urge us on if we demur; 
With bitter breath we call her " foe," 
As driven thus we rise and go. 

The roads we follow wind and twist, 
Our eyes grow blind with blinding mist, 
Blown down to us as we ascend 
The upland heights that near the end. 



*]2 NECESSITY. 

And at the end — "Where is our foe? 
Where hideth she?" we cry; and lo ! 
Through breaking mist, an angel's face 
Looks out upon us from her place ! 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S CHRISTMAS 
GIFT. 

'TWAS in eighteen hundred and sixty four, 
That terrible year when the shock and roar 
Of the nation's battles shook the land, 
And the fire leapt up into fury fanned, — 

The passionate, patriotic fire, 

With its throbbing pulse and its wild desire 

To conquer and win, or conquer and die, 

In the thick of the fight when hearts beat high 

With the hero's thrill to do and to dare, 
'Twixt the bullet's rush and the muttered prayer. 



74 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

In the North, and the East, and the great North- 
west, 
Men waited and watched with eager zest 

For news of the desperate, terrible strife, — 
For a nation's death or a nation's life ; 
While over the wires there flying sped 
News of the wounded, the dying and dead. 

" Defeat and defeat ! ah ! what was the fault 
Of the grand old army's sturdy assault 
At Richmond's gates?" in a querulous key 
Men questioned at last impatiently, 

As the hours crept by, and day by day 
They watched the Potomac Army at bay. 



Defeat and defeat! It was here, just here, 
In the very height of the fret and fear, 

Click, click ! across the electric wire 
Came suddenly flashing w T ords of fire, 
And a great shout broke from city and town 
At the news of Sherman's marching down, — 

Marching down on his w T ay to the sea 
Through the Georgia swamps to victory. 
Faster and faster the great news came, 
Flashing along like tongues of flame, — 

McAllister ours ! And then, ah ! then, 
To that patientest, tenderest, noblest of men, 
This message from Sherman came flying swift, — 
" I send you Savannah for a Christmas gift ! " 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

ALONG the streets one day with that swift tread 
He walked a living king — then, " He is dead ! " 
The whisper flew from lip to lip, while still 
Sounding within our ears the echoing thrill 
Of his magician's voice we seemed to hear 
In notes of melody ring near and clear. 

So near, so clear, men cried, " It cannot be ! 

It was but yesterday he spoke to me; 

But yesterday we saw him move along, 

His head above the crowd, swift-paced and strong; 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. JJ 

But yesterday his plan and purpose sped, — 
It cannot be to-day that he is dead ! " 

A moment thus, half-dazed, men met and spoke, 
When first the sudden news upon them broke : 
A moment more, with sad acceptance turned 
To face the bitter truth that they had spurned. 
Friends said, through tears, " How empty seems 

the town ! " 
And warring critics laid their weapons down. 

He had his faults, they said, but they were faults 
Of head and not of heart, — his sharp assaults, 
Flung seeming heedless from his quivering 

bow, 
And heedless striking either friend or foe, 



78 WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

Were launched with eyes that saw not foe or 

friend, 
But only, shining far, some goal or end 

That, compassed once, should bring God's sav- 
ing grace 
To purge and purify the human race. 
The measure that he meted out he took, 
And blow for blow received without a look, 
Without a sign of conscious hurt or hate 
To stir the tranquil calmness of his state. 

Born on the heights and in the purple bred, 
He chose to walk the lowly ways instead, 
That he might lift the wretched, and defend 
The rights of those who languished for a friend. 



WENDELL PHILLIPS. 79 

So many years he spent in listening 

To these sad cries of wrong and suffering, 

It was not strange, perhaps, he thought the right 
Could never live upon the easeful height, 
Nor strange indeed that slow suspicion grew 
Against the class whose tyrannies he knew. 
But bitter and unsparing as his speech, 
He meant alone the evil deed to reach. 

No hate of persons winged his fiery shaft; 

He had no hatred but for cruel craft 

And selfish measurements, where human Might 

Bore down upon the immemorial Right. 

Even while he dealt his bitterest blows at power, 

No bitterness that high heart could devour. 



SO WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

How at the last this great heart conquered all, 
We know who watched above his sacred pall, — 
One day a living king he faced a crowd 
Of critic foes; over the dead king bowed 
A throng of friends who yesterday were those 
Who thought themselves, and whom the world 
thought, foes. 



CONTRAST. 

The bells of Lent rang up, rang down, 
Through all the babel of the town ; 
Rang soft, rang clear, rang loud or low, 
As loud or low March w r inds did blow r . 

Through wide-flung doors the hurrying^ throng 
Caught hint of psalm and snatch of song, — 
The high-strung song of plaint and prayer, 
Of cross, and passion, and despair. 

One, hurrying by amid the throng, 
Who caught the sweetness of the song 



82 CONTRAST. 

Above the turmoil of the street, 
Turned suddenly her weary feet, 

And through the wide-flung doors passed in 
From out the w T eek-day whirl and din. 
"Call me away from flesh and sense — 
Thy grace, O Lord, can draw me thence," 

In fervent tones the singers sang, 

While solemnly the organ rang. 

" From flesh and sense/' — the words struck clear 

Upon the stranger's listening ear. 

"From flesh and sense." She looked across 
The sunlit aisles, where glint and gloss 
Of diamond-Are and satin shone, — 
A princess' raiment, that had won 



CONTRAST. 83 

A prince's ransom in the past, — 
Across the aisles, then downward cast 
Her seeking glance in bitter heed 
Of raiment that scarce met the need 

That winter keen and merciless 
Brought home to her with savage stress. 
And they, — they neither toil nor spin, 
These lilies fair, apparelled in 

These costly robes, while others strive, 
And mourn to find themselves alive 
Beneath the burdens of the day, 
That leave small time or wish to pray. 

" Call me away from flesh and sense," 
When flesh itself seems half drawn thence. 



84 CONTRAST. 

" For you, for you, O favored ones, 
These silken stalls, these organ tones/' 

Her bitter thought ran, as the prayer 
Floated in music on the air. 
" For you, for you this house you call 
The house of God; for me the thrall 

" Of toil and toil, from day to day, 

While life wastes sordidly away 

In vainest hope and dull despair 

Of some sweet time, when one from care 

" May pause and rest a little space, 
And meet life's bright things face to face. 
But faint of heart, and very low 
Of hope and comfort, I but know 



CONTRAST. 85 

" In these dark days the needs of earth. 
All else seems now of little worth ; 
And little worth your silken prayer 
Against my wall of dull despair." 



CRESSID. 

Has any one seen my Fair, 
Has any one seen my Dear? 
Could any one tell me .where 
And whither she went from here? 

The road is winding and long, 
With many a turn and twist, 
And one could easy go wrong, 
Or ever one thought or list. 

How should one know my Fair, 
And how should one know my Dear? 



CRESSID. 87 

By the dazzle of sunlight hair 
That smites like a golden spear. 

By the eyes that say " Beware," 

By the smile that beckons you near, — 

This is to know my Fair, 

This is to know my Dear. 

Rough and bitter as gall 

The voice that suddenly comes 

Over the windy wall 

Where the fishermen have their homes : — 

" Ay, ay, we know full well 
The way your fair one went: 



88 CRESSID. 

She led by the ways of Hell, 
And into its torments sent 

" The boldest and bravest here, 
Who knew nor guilt nor guile, 
Who knew not shadow of fear 



Till he followed that beckoning smile. 



" Now would you find your Fair, 
Now would you find your Dear? 
Go, turn and follow her where 
And whither she went from here, 

" Along by the winding path 
That leads by the old sea-wall : 
The wind blows wild with wrath, 
And one could easily fall 



CRESSID. 89 

" From over the rampart there, 
If one should lean too near, 
To look for the sunlight hair 
That smites like a golden spear ! " 



HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS. 

Down upon the 'leaguered town 
With forty thousand men he rode : 
The fields were bare, the meadows brown, 
The starving cattle faintly lowed. 

But conquering hero he rode down, — 
As if to hawk and bells he rode, — 
While fields were bare and meadows brown, 
And starving cattle faintly lowed. 

And just without the 'leaguered town 
They pitched their tents along the road, 



HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS. gi 

Or in the fields and meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

Day after day they stormed the town; 
Day after day he laughing rode 
Across the fields and meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

One day from out the 'leaguered town 
There faltered forth along the road, 
And by the fields and meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 

A wretched throng. The 'leaguered town 

Had cast aside its useless load, 

And by the fields and meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 



92 HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS. 

They faltered up, they faltered down, 
Half dazed with fear, along the road. 
Then, by the fields and meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 

The hero who had stormed the town 
Day after day, and careless rode, 
Day after day by meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 

With swift, sharp strokes came riding down 
Along the white and dusty road, 
Unheeding still the meadows brown, 

The starving cattle as they lowed. 

His face was set beneath a frown ; 
His laughing eyes, that had bestowed 



HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS. 93 

No glance upon the meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 

Now fierce yet soft looked shining down 
Upon the groups that thronged the road. 
Blind to the meadows bare and brown, 

Deaf to the cattle as they lowed, 

His great heart suddenly bore down 
The conqueror's pride, and back he rode 
Past all the fields and meadows brown 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

He fed the people of the town, — 
These famished groups that thronged the road, — 
And through the fields and meadows brown 
He called the cattle as they lowed, 



94 HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS, 

And fed them all. Then from the town 
He turned away, and lightly rode 
Past all the fields and meadows brown, 

With face that shone and eyes that glowed. 

"Vive Dieu ! " he cried, "I'll take no town 
By famine's scourge : a fairer road 
Must Henry of Navarre ride down 

To find his triumphs well bestowed. " 



MY PRINCESS. 

She walks beyond me fair and far, 
As yon fair ship beyond the bar 
Stands out to sea, or, in delay, 
At anchor rides day after day. 

Day after day, before my eyes, 

Just out of reach, the white sails rise : 

Just out of reach, day after day, 

Like this she keeps and holds her way, 

Who holds and sways my heart, until 
Within my soul some tenser thrill 



g6 MY PRINCESS. 

Wakes into life, and I forget 

A moment then the gulf that yet 

Between us lies, the swelling sea 
That separates my love from me. 
My love ! With bated breath I name 
Her thus, yet even thus dare not proclaim 

To her, before whom others kneel, 
The throes of passion that I feel. 
And yet — and yet, day after day, 
She leads me on with looks that say 

What speech denies, with smiles that prick 
My armor through, though leaden thick. 
The daughter of a regnant queen, 
My princess fair, doth she demean 



MY PRINCESS. 97 

Her high estate, stoop from her place, 
To lure a victim by her grace? 
Even while this doubt assaileth me, 
Amidst the courtly throng I see 

A face that for an instant there 

Seems touched with some divine despair, — 

A look of human need and loss 

That like a shadow flits across 

The eyes whose smile but yesternight 
Shone with a bright, alluring light. 
Another moment, down the room 
Her gay laugh rings. I catch the bloom 

Of sudden roses on her cheek; 

I meet her glance ; I hear her speak 
7 



98 MY PRINCESS. 

In jesting words, — the old light way. 
But down the room the harpers play 

Wild waltzes, with a dying fall 
In every note, a plaintive call 
Of passionate, entreating pain 
Inwoven with each mirthful strain. 

I listen, and remember there 

The face touched with divine despair, — 

I listen, lifting up my heart; 

I look, where near and yet apart 

She holds her way afar from me, — 
Afar yet near; I look, and see 
My love, though seas may roll between ! 
My own, though kingdoms stand between ! 



UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 

She stood before the chimney-place, 

A little maid of winsome grace, 

And watched the great flames leap and dance, 

With merriest mischief in her glance. 

Along the floor, across the wall, 
The fire's bright light did flash and fall, 
And for the moment made the room 
Of grimmest Puritanic gloom 

Shine with a festal glow and gleam 
In every nook, on every beam 



100 UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 

Of solid oak; and on the snow 
Across the road it seemed to throw 

Its gay, inviting radiance, 
Where oaken shutters gave a chance 
From heart-shaped loopholes rudely cut, 
Or from some crevice left unshut. 

"Good Master Matthews holds perchance 
A feast to-night," one said askance, 
Who hastened by. "A feast of saints ; 
No wicked revelry attaints 

"Our godly brother," answered back 
A guest, who, following on the track 
Of beaten snow, quick overheard 
This flippant tone and jesting word. 



UNDER THE MISTLETOE. IOI 

Low laughed the merry jester there 
Beneath his breath. " If I could share 
Good Master Matthews' cheer to-night," 
He whispered soft, " I 'd see a sight 

"Worth half a year of pangs and pains, 
Or priestly penance for the stains 
Of heedless sins; but I, alack! 
I am a foolish youth, too slack 

" Of solemn sighs, too rife with mirth, 
To be a Puritan of worth, 
And Master Matthews' bidden guest 
On such a night as this — 'tis best, 

"Perhaps; for if sweet Mistress Ann 
Should look a laugh, as I'm a man 



102 UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 

I should so follow suit, they'd gaze 
And gaze at me with shocked amaze. " 

Meantime, within the mansion there 
He passed so gayly by, this fair 
And winsome Mistress Ann did face 
Good Master Matthews in disgrace. 

Twas when the twenty candles' light 

Flared suddenly upon a sight 

Taboo to Puritanic eyes, — 

"What, what!" good Master Matthews cries 

With heat and haste, " this mummery here 
Beneath my roof!" — "But, cousin dear, 
'Tis Christmas Eve, you know, and so 
This holly-wreath and mistletoe 



UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 103 

" I brought from over seas — " "What then?'' 
He swift returns. " These godly men 
And dames who are my guests to-night 
Scorn all such tricks that would bedight 

"Such sacred things with vain ado." 
Here Mistress Ann returned: "I, too, 
Good cousin, — am I not your guest, 
With right to courtesy the best?" 

Struck dumb with this reproach he stood. 
Who hesitates is lost. "Ah, good 
My cousin, leave it all to me ! " 
Laughed Mistress Ann right merrily; 

"I'll take the blame, I'll take the shame, 
I promise you, and with my claim 



104 UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 

Of latest guest from over seas 

I '11 stake my word I '11 conquer these 

" Grim Puritans, good cousin mine ! 
Now let us make the candles shine 
Anew, for here they come." She ran 
. Like any deer, this Mistress Ann, 

Just here, and, laughing, stood beneath 
The mistletoe and holly-wreath. 
The first who entered there was he 
Who ruled the town, and held the key 

Of state. His brow was grave, his coat 
Was graver still, — once at his throat 
And wrists clung ruffles of fine lace. 
*T was in the old days, when a lofty place 



UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 105 

He held at court, — the godless days 
Of early youth's poor vain displays. 
"My sooth, he is a goodly man," 
Under her breath quoth Mistress Ann. 

" He knew my mother once, and me, 
He held me once upon his knee 
In childhood days," she smiling thought; 
Then all at once she blushing caught 

His questioning gaze. "I'm little Ann," 
She sweetly said. The grave, stern man 
At this relaxed his visage grim; 
The Puritan precise and prim 

Slipped like a mask, and, as he should, 
He bent and kissed her where she stood. 



106 UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 

The twenty candles flamed and flared, 
The twenty guests in silence stared. 

Then rose a murmur, shocked and low, — 
They'd spied the branch of mistletoe! 
As meek as any dove she stood, 
This Mistress Ann, to breast the flood 

Of blame that broke, when, " Let it pass, 
She's but a child, — a foolish lass," 
A voice declared, to be obeyed. 
Something within the voice betrayed 

A latent laugh to Mistress Ann. 
She looked, and in a moment's span 
Read there behind his visage grim 
Full pardon for her saucy whim. 



UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 107 

"In sooth he is a goodly man, 
And not so very grim," quoth Ann; 
" He loved my mother once, and me ; 
He held me once upon his knee." 



KING GEORGE'S TOWNS. 

FROM end to end the house was filled 

With laughing guests. 
From end to end the music thrilled, 

And jovial jests 
From lip to lip ran gayly round, 

And light steps beat 
The measures out, and light hearts found 

The measures sweet. 

"Next week, next year/' they smiling planned, 

As one assumes 
All things secure, while softly fanned 



KING GEORGE'S TOWNS. 109 

The peacock plumes 
The gay dames held, — next week, next year: 

The fiddlers played 
Their wildest tunes, the horns blew clear, 

The banners swayed 

In rhythmic movements where they hung; 

All things were set 
To melody, — to music strung, 

And yet, and yet, 
What minor chord was that he heard, — 

The gallant host? 
Beneath the banners where they stirred 

What shadowy ghost 

Was that he saw, defiant, grim, 
Step darkly down 



IIO KING GEORGE'S TOWNS. 

To mock the scene, and menace him 

With warning frown, 
While still they planned, " next week, next year," 

His careless guests? 
They saw no ghost, they felt no fear, 

Why stop their jests 



Who held beneath King George's crown 

The royal right 
To hold and rule King George's town 

By loyal might? 
" Next week, next year;" and while they spoke, 

Across the hum 
Of horns and fiddles bluntly broke 

A rolling drum 



KING GEORGE'S TOWNS. Ill 

That beat to arms the "rabble rout" 

They did disdain. 
" Next week, next year," — the year ran out 

And out again, 
And through and through King George's towns, 

From east to west, 
From north to south, the drum-beat drowns 

The idle jest 



On Tory lips. The rabble rout 

Rise fast and far; 
They follow on with cheer and shout 

The morning star 
Of victory's dawn. " Next week, next year ! " 

Their cry rings down, 



112 KING GEORGE'S TOWNS. 

"We bend no more with cringing fear 
'Neath George's crown ! M 

Behind her fan of peacock plumes 

The Tory dame 
Makes no more plans, no more assumes 

To ban with shame 
The " rabble rout " she once disdained; 

While he, her host 
Who under George's banners reigned, 

Recalls the ghost 
That once upon a festal night, 

Defiant, grim, 
Stepped darkly down athwart the light 

To menace him ! 



THE CHRISTMAS GALE. 

Blind and bitter the storm beat down : 
Through the streets of the little town 
Women and men went hurrying fast, 
Their troubled glance on the splintered mast 

That pitched and tossed just off the shore 
Where rocks were sharp and the tempest tore 
In fiercer wrath the treacherous waves 
That year by year had made the graves 

Of luckless sailors bearing down 

On homew r ard trips to the harbor town. 



114 THE CHRISTMAS GALE. 

"Ah, God forbid," the women prayed, 

As the splintered mast rose up and swayed 

Like a human form against the sky, — 

" Ah, God forbid that our boys should die 

Like this, like this, almost in sight 

Of our very eyes on Christmas night! " 

Then such a cry was overheard : 
" On Christmas night he gave his word 
He 'd come to me," a young voice cried. 
" On Christmas night last year, a bride, 

" I waited in this very place,, 
And saw his smiling, handsome face 
On watch for me, as he looked down, 
Across the bows, upon the town." 



THE CHRISTMAS GALE. 1 1 5 

She ceased a moment, looking far 
Towards the seething harbor-bar, 
With eager eyes in wondering gaze. 
"What ails the girl? Has sudden craze 

"Overtaken her?" they whispered there, 
Who caught her strange expectant stare. 
" What ails the girl ? " when — " Look and see," 
She cried in sudden ecstasy — 

" They 're off the rocks, they Ve passed the bar, 
In spite of shattered sail and spar ! 
They 're safe ! they 're safe ! oh, God be praised ! " 
The crowd about her stare amazed. 

No human eye the gathering dark 

Could pierce like this, — but hark! oh, hark! 



Il6 THE CHRISTMAS GALE. 

What sound was that along the tide? 

" Fling out your ropes ! " an old salt cried ; 

"The girl is right — they've passed the bar, 
They 're coming in ! " A loud huzza 
Went out and up from forty throats; 
Then into line they swung their boats, 

And boat to boat, with guard and gird 
Of seasoned rope, without a word 
They held their place, the trusty score 
Of gray old salts, till close to shore 

They caught the sound, they saw the sight 
They'd waited for, and hoarse delight 
Rang out again in lusty notes 
Along the line of waiting boats. 



THE CHRISTMAS GALE. II7 

Then swift and sharp the orders rang, 
And " Hard, pull hard," the sailors sang; 
And sailors' voices answered back, 
From out the driving wreck and rack. 

And into port there came at last, 
With battered hull and splintered mast 
And ragged sails, the sloop " Annette." 
Not soon will those who watched forget 

The girl-wife's face as full in view 

She saw her captain and his crew; 

Nor soon forget the words they heard, — 

" God would not let him break his word!" 

When summer suns bring strangers down 
To roam about the harbor town, 



Il8 THE CHRISTMAS GALE. 

The gray old salts now tell the tale 
Of what befell that Christmas gale, 

And gazing dreamily afar 
Toward the line of harbor-bar, 
They whisper in the fading light, 
" It was a miracle of sight, 

" For never any eye before 
Could see like that across the shore; 
And never any sail came down 
Like that into our harbor town." 



' THE FAMINE. 

All along the meadow-land 

The rain beat and beat, 
And up aloft the orchard croft, 

And in among the wheat, 

And where the corn was standing green, 
And where the oats were white, 

Day after day, day after day. 
And through the dreary night 

The driving flood came down and down, 
Until in sore despair 



120 THE FAMINE. 

The people cried, " God stay the tide, 
And let His winds blow fair." 

For blight was gathering on the wheat, 

And mildew on the corn, 
The oats hung down in rotting brown, 

The rye-fields bent forlorn. 

But day by day the lowering clouds 
Poured forth their floods, until 

The evil spell of hunger fell, 
And famine had its will. 

Then rose a cry that went to heaven 

And opened all its doors, 
And hurrying forth from South, from North, 

And up from distant shores, 



THE FAMINE. 121 

The agents of the Lord came swift 

To succor and to save; 
With corn and wheat the ships sailed fleet 

Across the ocean wave. 

Then ceased the wailing cry of woe, 

The dread note of despair, 
iVnd hand clasped hand from strand to strand, 

And curses changed to prayer. 

Then knit the tie of brotherhood, 

And love sprang into birth, 
Where scorn and spleen had come between 

These nations of the earth. 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 

Pile up, pile up the lordly logs, 

November winds are high, 
And daylight dies with swift surprise 

Across the sunset sky. 

But kindling flames upon the hearth 

Shall set to sweetest tune 
The wandering wail that haunts the gale 

With melancholy rune. 

Pile up then maple, birch, and pine, 
And bring the ancient fare 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 12, 

They loved of old, — the russets gold, 
And cider clear and rare. 

And heap a dish with hardier fruit, 

And crack the walnuts well, 
Then round the fire draw nigh and nigher, 

And yield unto the spell, — 

The spell of old Thanksgiving days, 

That from the ancient past 
Pleads with us here to hold good cheer 

While life and love shall last. 

And let us pledge those bold, brave hearts 

Who, in their reverent way, 
With simple state did consecrate 

Their first Thanksgiving Day. 



124 THANKSGIVING DAY. 

Hard was their lot through dreary months, 

And difficult their toil, 
And at the best they did but wrest 

From out the virgin soil 

A scanty harvest at the end ; 

But thankful hearts were theirs, 
And scanty fare, if each man's share, 

Was sweetened by their prayers. 

High-souled and stanch of faith and zeal, 

Simple, sincere, devout, 
They held their way from day to day 

Untroubled by a doubt. 

No evil times could shake their trust; 
Alike they thanked their Lord, 



THANKSGIVING DAY. 1 25 

And praised His will, through good and ill, 
With frank and sweet accord. 

Full far and wide our harvests spread, 
Where theirs were scant and mean ; 

Full far and wide our prosperous tide 
Of plenty can be seen. 

Our land is glutted for our greed, 

With waste is overspent, 
But ever yet we moan and fret 

With peevish discontent. 

Oh, sweet, brave souls, wherever now 

You walk beyond our sight, 
Show us to-day your nobler way 

And lift us to your light. 



126 * THANKSGIVING DAY. 

Rouse up our sleeping, sluggish hearts, 
Break up the worldly crust, 

Teach us to feel your kindling zeal, 
Your faith and hope and trust. 



THE PURITAN EASTER. 
Temp. 1676. 

I. 

While yet the dawn was faint and gray, 
Before the breaking of the day, 
Across the town she took her way. 

Her step was light as any doe ; 

So swift she went there scarce did show 

A print upon the crust of snow. 

So swift she went, so light and swift 
Against the gray dawn's murky rift, 
Her slender figure seemed to lift — ■ 



128 THE PURITAN EASTER. 

A phantom form of ghostly height, 
That struck with sudden, sore affright 
And wondering awe the luckless wight 

Who chanced her way. " A wraith ! " he cried 
In faltering tones, then onward hied 
In mighty fear, nor looked aside 

To right or left. He did not hear, 

As on he fled in shivering fear, 

Her mocking laugh ring low and clear, 

Nor hear her words : " The foolish clown ! 
He 's like his betters of the town, 
Who fly at nought and flout a gown. 



THE PURITAN EASTER. 1 29 

" ' A wraith ' indeed ! if he but knew ! " 
She laughs again. The sky grows blue; 
She turns and sees her goal in view, — 

A little church all plain and prim, 

Or " meeting-house " it was their whim 

To call it then, — these elders grim 

Who ruled the town in that old day, 

With primmest Puritanic sway, 

'Gainst which no voice must utter nay. 

Over the threshold of the door 

She entered in; across the floor 

She lightly stepped; a moment more, 
9 



130 THE PURITAN EASTER. 

Upon the pulpit plain and bare, 
Upon the oaken stand and chair, 
And on the gallery rail and stair, 

She hangs a wealth of leaf and spray 
Such as the chill New England day 
Could yield from wood and forest gray. 

A cross of hemlock just beneath 

A crown of thorns ; and still beneath, 

Like burnished gold, a shining w r reath 

Of immortelles. Then low she kneels; 
Athwart her face a rapture steals; 
With tender cry her soul appeals 



THE PURITAN EASTER. 131 

To Christ the risen Lord that day. 
"Whose way of thorns shall be my way, 
Whose word shall be my prop and stay ! " 

She cries in ecstasy of joy, — 
That passion born of no alloy 
Of earthly hope or earthly joy. 

Then swiftly as she came, she went, 
Before the morning mist was spent, 
Her thoughts on heavenly things intent. 



II. 

Aghast the elders stand, and stare 
At pulpit front and oaken chair, 
At gallery rail and gallery stair. 



132 THE PURITAN EASTER. 

" Whose work is this?" they hoarsely cry; 
" What papist hand, covert and sly, 
Dares thus our godly laws defy?" 

A gloomy glance goes glowering down 
From man to maid, gray-haired and brown. 
Gathering at last in awful frown, 

It fixes on the comely face 

Of one who seems to lack no grace 

Of noble thought or noble race: 

For who but he who came to bring 
That meddling message from the king 
About their laws, could do this thing? 



THE PURITAN EASTER. 1 33 

Just at the height of all the storm, 
When words raged hot, a slender form 
Came swiftly forth, a stately form 

That like a willow in its place 
Drooped with a lovely, living grace. 
Wondering, they looked upon her face. 

" It was not he, but I," she said, 

" Who did this thing : now turn instead 

Your wrath on me, and on my head 

" Bestow the burden of your blame ! " 
A sudden horror crept like flame 
Through all the throng, a sudden shame 



134 THE PURITAN EASTER. 

That swept them from their saintly pride 
Of virtuous power. What ! she, the bride 
Of him whose name rang far and wide 

As chief of elders in the land, — 
A goodly man whose righteous hand 
Had snatched full many a costly brand 

From out the very jaws of Hell ! — 
At first, as if beneath some spell, 
A boding silence on them fell ; 

Then like a flood their horror burst. 
They branded her as one accurst, 
A poison viper they had nurst 



THE PURITAN EASTER. 1 35 

Within their breasts, to turn again 
And mock the simple word and plain 
Of Christ the Lord by symbols vain 

Of papist craft and papist guile ! 

She heard them through, her face the while 

Gathering a strange, half-bitter smile. 

"What! you," she cried, "and you, and you, 

Who broke the old faith for the new, 

Who made your boast that through and through 

"Your new-found land men should be free 

Of priestly power, or tyranny 

Of Church or State; should welcome be 



I36 THE PURITAN EASTER. 

" To hold their faith before the day, 
To serve the Lord by yea or nay 
Of all the creeds, — you, you to say 

" And swear me false with hasty blame 
Of hasty words, that brand with shame 
My loyal blood and loyal name; 

" And all because, a yearling bride, 
Homesick for English ways, I tried 
To mark the sweet old Easter-tide 

" Which brought upon its April way, 

A year ago, a morning gay 

With English bloom, — my wedding-day ! " 



THE PURITAN EASTER. 1 37 

A little sob at this began; 

From maid to dame it swiftly ran, — 

From maid to dame; then every man 

Was caught within its surging tide; 
The grim old elders turned aside ; 
The younger bent their heads to hide 

Their misty eyes. A silence fell; 

Then one up spoke, and broke the spell, — 

" Our sister meant not ill, but well. 

" Through lack of light, it seems, and not 
From malice of the world begot, 
Her error comes, and thus I wot 



I38 THE PURITAN EASTER. 

" We can o'erlook this vain display, 

This popish show of Easter day." 

A moment's pause — then, " Let us pray," 

He softly said with reverent air. 

They bent their heads in solemn prayer, 

And Christ the risen Lord was there. 



WHY DOTH IT COME TO PASS ? 

Sometimes how near you are; 
Sometimes how dear you are; 
Then like some distant star 
I see you from afar. 

Sometimes through you, through you, 
I see the gray sky blue, 
And feel the warmth of May 
In the December day. 

Sometimes, sometimes I let 
All burdens fall, forget 



I4O WHY DOTH IT COME TO PASS ? 

All cares and every fear 
In your sweet atmosphere. 

And then alas, alas ! 
Why doth it come to pass, 
Before the hour goes by, 
Before the dream doth die, 

I drift and drift away 
Out of your light of day, 
Out of your warmth and cheer, 
Your blessed atmosphere? 

Why doth it come to pass? 
Alas, and yet alas ! 
Why doth the world prevail, 
Why doth the spirit fail 



WHY DOTH IT COME TO PASS ? I4I 

And hide itself away 
Behind its wall of clay 
Since time began — alas ! 
Why doth it come to pass? 



TO-MORROW AT TEN. 

A NEWPORT IDYL. 

How the band plays to-night all those lovely 
Strauss airs 

That I danced here last year, or sat out on the 

stairs 

With Mulready, and Blakesley, and Beresford 
Brett — 

" Little Brett " he was called by the rest of the set. 

Tum-ti-tum — there's that perfect " Blue Dan- 
ube; " oh dear ! 

How I wish that Mulready or Blakesley were 
here ! 

What 's to-day or to-night to the nights that are 
fled? 



TO-MORROW AT TEN. 143 

What's the rose that I hold to the rose that is 
dead? 

But speaking of roses reminds me of those 

That I wore at the French frigate ball at the 
close 

Of the season. 'Twas early in breezy September, 

Just a little bit coolish and chill, I remember, 

But a heavenly fair night; and the band how it 
played ! 

And how to its music we waltzed there, and 
stayed 

Deep into the midnight, or morning, before 

We thought of departure. That rowing to 
shore 

In the chill and the dark I shall never forget; 

At my left hand sat Blakesley, and at my right, 
Brett, 



144 TO-MORROW AT TEN. 

Whispering soft foolish words, — Brett, not 
Blakesley, I mean, 

For Blakesley was dumb. But under the screen 

Of the sek-scented darkness I saw him quite 
clear 

Kiss the rose that I wore above my left ear. 

Ah ! as soft on my cheek I felt the light touch 

Of his breath as he bent there, my heart beat 
with such 

A wild pulse for a moment, that, giddy and faint, 

I turned to the breeze with a sudden complaint 

Of the air I found close : and the air was like 
wine, — 

A strong western wind from a sky clear and fine. 

It was just at that moment our boat came to land, 

And I stumbled and fell as I stepped on the 
sand, 



TO-MORROW AT TEN. 145 

And J t was Brett's arms that caught me : I never 
knew quite 

What I said in that instant; I thought in the 
night 

It was Blakesley who held me, and Blakesley, 
it seems, 

Was somewhere behind, and — Oh, foolish old 
dreams 

Of that dead and gone time ! for what do I care 

For the things of last year, its mistakes or 
despair, 

When to-day and to-night show such untroubled 
skies, 

And laid at my feet is the season's great prize 

For my taking or leaving; to-morrow at ten 

I 'm to give him my answer, — this prize amongst 
men. 

Of course I have made up my mind to accept, 

10 



I46 TO-MORROW AT TEN. 

And to-night I must burn up that rose I have 
kept, 

And the notes signed "T. B.," and must cease to 

recall 

) 

That foolish old time of the French frigate ball. 

Tom Blakesley, indeed ! just as if I should care 

For that stupid — hark ! there *s a step on the 
stair, 

And I told John to-night, to say " Not at home," 

To any and all of my friends that might <:ome ; 

And he 's hunting me out with some card he 
has brought, 

The donkey ! Now, John — Mr. Blakesley ! I 
thought — 

Oh, Tom ! Tom ! let me go. How can you — 
how dare — 

What! you thought that I chose little Beresford 
there 



TO-MORROW AT TEN. 147 

That night in the boat, and that you — let me go, sir, 

You 're the stupidest man — A whole year ! 
Don't you know, sir, 

That to-morrow — what's that? — in Egypt and 
Rome 

All this year, and a meeting with Brett sent 
you home 

In hot haste — and 't was love, love, you say, 

And despair that sent you and kept you away? 

H-m — well, it may be; but you see other men 

Have not been so dull, and to-morrow at ten 

I'm to give — what is that? You've been ill all 
this year? 

Come home but to die ? — oh, Tom, Tom, my dear, 

Not to die, but to live ; and I — my refusal I '11 
give 

To-morrow at ten ; and you, you '11 stay, Tom, 
and live? 



A QUESTION. 

Oh, was it I or was it you, 
That broke the subtle chain that ran 
Between us two, between us two, — 
Oh, was it I or was it you? 

Not very strong the chain at best, 
Not quite complete from span to span, 
I never thought 'twould stand the test 
Of settled commonplace at best. 

But oh, how near, how dear you were 
When things were at their first and best, 



A QUESTION. I49 

And we were friends without demur, 
Shut out from all the sound and stir, — 

The little petty worldly race. 
Why could we not have stood the test, — 
The little test of commonplace, — 
And kept the glory and the grace 

Of that sweet time when first we met? 
Oh, was it I or was it you 
That dropped the golden link, and let 
The little rift and doubt and fret 

Creep in and break that subtle chain? — 

"Oh, was it I or was it you?" 

Still ever yet and yet again 

Old parted friends will ask with pain. 



IN THE CROWD. 

In the crowd, there she stands 
With a rose in her hands; 
Strong and straight, like the rose, 
Lifts her head; no one knows 
Of the thorn that doth prick 
Her heart to the quick. 

No one guesses while red 
The rose lifts its head, 
And its odorous breath 
Fills the air, that death 
With pain-poisoned dart 
May be eating its heart 



IN THE CROWD. I 5 I 

No one guesses or knows 

Where a proud heart bestows 

Its passion and pain, 

Its loss and its gain. 

No one guesses or knows 

What is death to the rose. 



ABDICATED. 

So I step down and you step up, 

Why not, why not? 
I drained the draught, flung down the cup, 

And you have got 
The little place I once called mine, 

And you will quaff 
The wine I quaffed and call it fine — 

It makes me laugh. 
You'll get so weary of the thing 

Before you 're through, — 
The shows, the lies, the paltering 

Of all the crew. 



ABDICATED. 1 53 

I wonder if somewhere beyond 

This earthly track, 
When we have slipped the fleshly bond, 

We shan't look back 
With just this kind of glad relief, 

And laugh to find 
That we have left the grind and grief 

So far behind? 



ON THE STAIRS. 

T WAS a crowd and a crush from the time we 
began ; 

My tulle was in shreds, and my marabout fan 

Was broken to bits as we tried to get clear 

Of clumsy Dick Marlowe, who never could steer, 

No matter what partner might have him in tow, 

Through no matter what easy step, waltz, or 
galop. 

And 'twas just in this whirl that we waltzed 
down the floor 

And found our way out by the corridor door 

That leads to the hall, and there on a stair, 



ON THE STAIRS. 1 55 

Away from the mob and the noise and the glare, 
We rested and talked and heard the band play, 
With never a thought how time ran away, 

Till suddenly came a great flourish and clang 

Of the horns and the harps, and the clarinet 
rang 

A shrill winding note like a long winding sigh, 

Which we knew as we heard was good-night 
and good-by. 

" Good-night and good-by? " Why, it seemed but 
a second 

Since we waltzed down the room, if time might 
be reckoned 

As fleetly as thoughts run, and, by the same 
token, 

As fleetly and sweetly as words may be spoken. 



156 ON THE STAIRS. 

" Good-night and good-by." Time 's a thief un- 
awares. 

'T is how many years since we sat on the 
stairs 

And rested and talked there and heard the band 
play, 

With never a thought how time ran away? 

What was it we talked of, oh, what was the 
chaff, 

The gay little joke that called out our laugh, 

As you stooped to recover the flowers I let 
fall, 

And stooping there stepped on my white Llama 
shawl? 

And what was it then you murmured just after 

That checked the gay joke and stopped the 
light laughter, — 



ON THE STAIRS. 1 57 

What was it, what was it? I caught as you spoke 
there 

One word of devotion; then suddenly broke 
there, 

Just there on the stair, a sound of gay chatter 

As the dancers came forth, and — perhaps — 
well, what matter 

At this day and this hour if you thought I 
retreated 

That moment to leave there a suitor defeated? 



What matter, indeed? And yet as I listen 

To the old Lanner waltzes, and see the bright 
glisten 

Of yellow-gold hair on the head of my Polly, 

As she sits on the stair there, I think of your 
folly 



158 ON THE STAIRS. 

In that far-away day when you thought me 
coquetting, 

While my heart was for you alone pining and 
fretting. 

Well, 't is queer how one can forget and recover; 

'T is twenty years now since I Ve thought of the 
lover 

With whom I sat out a dozen round dances, 

And lost for, who knows how many fine chances — 

As my daughter — Miss Marlowe — is losing out 
there 

Her chances to-night on that draughty old stair. 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 

When the French fleet lay 
In Massachusetts Bay 
In that day 

When the British squadron made 
Its impudent parade 

Of blockade; 

All along and up and down 
The harbor of the town, — 

The brave, proud town 



l6o RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 

That had fought with all its might 
Its bold, brave fight 

For the right, 

To win its way alone 
And hold and rule its own, 
Such a groan 

From the stanch hearts and stout 
Of the Yankees there went out: 
But to rout 

The British lion then 
Were maddest folly, when 
One to ten 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. l6l 

Their gallant allies lay, 
Scant of powder, day by day 
In the bay. 

Chafing thus, impatient, sore, 
One day along the shore 
Slowly bore 

A clipper schooner, worn 
And rough and forlorn, 
With its torn 

Sails fluttering in the air: 
The British sailors stare 
At her there, 



1 62 RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 

So cool and unafraid. 
" What ! she 's running the blockade, 
The jade ! " 

They all at once roar out, 
Then — " Damn the Yankee lout ! " 
They shout. 

Athwart her bows red hot 
They send a challenge shot; 
But not 

An inch to right or left she veers, 
Straight on and on she steers, 
Nor hears 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 1 63 

Challenge or shout, until 
Rings forth with British will, 
A shrill 

" Heave to ! " Then sharp and short 
Question and quick retort 

Make British sport. 

" What is it that you say, — 
Where do I hail from pray, 

What is my cargo, eh? 

" My cargo? I '11 allow 
You can hear 'em crowin' now, 
At the bow. 



164 RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 

" And I Ve long-faced gentry too, 
For passengers and crew, 
Just a few, 

"To fatten up, you know, 
For home use, and a show 

Of garden sass and so. 

" And from Taunton town I hail ; 
Good Lord, it was a gale 

When I set sail ! " 

The British captain laught 
As he leaned there abaft: 

" 'T is a harmless craft, 



RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 1 65 

And a harmless fellow too, 
With his long-faced gentry crew; 
Let him through," 

He cried; and a gay " Heave ahead!" 
Sounded forth, and there sped 
Down the red 

Sunset track, unafraid, 
Straight through the blockade, 
This jade 

Of a harmless craft, 
Packed full to her draught, 
Fore and aft, 



1 66 RUNNING THE BLOCKADE. 

With powder and shot. 
One day when, red hot 

The British got 

Their full share and more 
Of this cargo, they swore, 
With a roar, 

At the trick she had played, 
This " damned Yankee jade " 

Who had run the blockade ! 



DELAY. 

Always to-morrow and never to day, 

So the winter wears till the bloom of May: 

"Yet what is a month more or less?" you say. 

But as May goes over the purpling hill, 
You lead before and I follow still 
From end to end of the months, until 

My passion wears with the autumn weather 
To the very end of its tender tether; 
For never apart yet never together 

We walk as we walked in the bloom of May : 
But at last your " to-morrow " is my " to-day," 
When, " What is a month more or less?" I say. 



UNATTAINED. 

TlRED, tired and spent, the day is almost run, 

And oh, so little done ! 
Above, and far beyond, far out of sight, 

Height over height, 
I know the distant hills I should have trod, — 

The hills of God, — 
Lift up their airy peaks, crest over crest, 

Where I had prest 
My faltering, weary feet, had strength been given, 

And found my Heaven. 
Yet once, ah, once the place where now I stand 

The promised land 



UNATTAINED. 1 69 

Seemed to my young, rapt vision, from afar. 

The morning star 
Shone for my guidance, beckoned me along, 

As, fresh and strong, 
And all untried, untired I took my way 

At break of day. 
The path looked strewn with flowers in that 
white light, 

Each distant height 
Smiled at me like a friend, — a faithful friend, — 

Sure that the end 

Would soon, ah, soon repay with sweet re- 
dress 

All weariness. 

But when the time wore on, and in the bright 

And searching light 



170 UN ATTAINED. 

Of high noonday I lifted up my eyes, 

The purple dyes 

Through which I had descried my mountain 

height 

Had vanished quite. 

Then, suddenly, I knew that I did stand 

Within the promised land 

Of youth's fair dreams and hopes ; but with a 

thrill 

I saw that still 

Above and far beyond, far out of sight, 

Height over height, 
Lifted the fairer hills I should have trod, — 

The hills of God ! 



WHO KNOWS? 

Who knows the thoughts of a child, 
The angel unreconciled 
To the new, strange world that lies 
Outstretched to its wondering eyes? 

Who knows if a piteous fear, 
Too deep for a sob or a tear, 
Is beneath that breathless gaze 
Of sudden and swift amaze, — 

Some fear from the dim unknown, 
Some shadow like black mist blown 



172 WHO KNOWS ? 

Across the heavenly ray 

Of this new-come dawning day? 

But the smile which as sudden and swift 
Breaks through the shadowy rift, — 
From what far heaven or near, 
What unseen blissful sphere, 

Comes the smile of a little child, 
This angel unreconciled 
To the new, strange world that lies 
Outstretched to its wondering eyes? 



WAITING. 

If only the rain would cease to beat, 
If only the winds would cease to blow, 

If only the clouds would beat retreat, 

And the summer sunshine glance and glow, 
I should be perfectly happy, I know. 

All day, and every day, I wait 

For something or other to come and go 

To make my pleasure a perfect state, 
To make my heart a summer glow 
Of sure delight that will never go. 



1 74 WAITING. 

But all day, and every day. I wait, 

And the days run by and the days run low, 

And everything seems too soon or too late, 
And I never find what I seek, you know, 
Never get just what I want, you know. 

There 's always something or other amiss, 
The tide is at ebb when I want it at flow, 

A fleck and a flaw to mar the bliss 
That might be easily perfect, I know, 
If I could but make things come and go. 

I Ve waited now so long and so late, 

That the hope I had, like the tide, runs low, 

And I begin to think that I shall wait 
For ever and ever like this, you know, 
For the things to come, that always go. 



WAITING. 175 

And I begin to think that perhaps, perhaps, 
When time is so swift and joy so slow, 

I 'd better make most of the hours that elapse, 
And the best of the days that come and go, 
Or the years will be gone or ever I know. 

And I shall sit weary and old and sad, 
Like a little weary old woman I know, 

And think of the days I might have been glad, 
Of the pleasures I dropped, the things I let go, 
For the things I never could find, you know. 



A GIRL OF GIRLS. 

HERE'S a girl of girls, 
Teeth as white as pearls, 
Breath of balm and rose 
When her lips unclose. 

Look, how straight she walks; 
List, how sweet she talks; 
Beauty, grace, and youth 
Crown her for a truth; 

And along her way 
Friends flock day by day, 



A GIRL OF GIRLS. 177 

Dropping at her feet 
Showers of praises sweet. 

" Beauty, grace, and youth, — 
Easy 't is, forsooth, 
With such gifts as these, 
Friends to gain and please," 

Dark-eyed Envy cries, 
Looking sadly wise 
As she walks apart 
With a burning heart. 

Beauty, grace, and youth, — 
All these gifts, in truth, 
Once were Envy's own, 
Yet she walks alone, 



I78 A GIRL OF GIRLS. 

Walks in sullen pride 
On the other side, 
Brooding as she goes 
Over petty woes, 

Little hates and spites, 
Fancied wrongs and slights, 
Which have made her life 
Dark with daily strife. 

Who would care, indeed, 
Follow such a lead, 
Though 't were Beauty's own 
Beckoned from her throne? 

Sweet words match the pearls, 
When my girl of girls 



A GIRL OF GIRLS. 179 

Doth her lips unclose, 
Breathing balm and rose. 

Sweet words set to deeds 
Sweeter still, are seeds 
Flowering day by day 
All along her way, 

Till to follow where 
She doth lightly fare, 
Is to set one's feet 



In a garden sweet 



Of all dear delights, 
Where from heavenly heights 
Friendly breezes bring 
Rest and pleasuring. 



THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 

Up from broidery-frame and book 

The Princess lifted a longing look. 

Green were the fields that stretched before 

The castle gate and the castle door; 

And soft and clear the tinkling call 

Of sheep-bells over the castle wall; 

And sweetly, cheerily rose the song 

Of the shepherd lad, as he strolled along 

By his nibbling flocks. " Come hither, come 

hither," 
He lightly sang. " And whither, and whither 



THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. l8l 

I wander, I wander, come follow, come follow! 
Over the field and into the hollow ! " 

Down went broidery-frame and book 

From the Princess' hands ; and, " Look, oh, 

look," 
She bitterly cried to her maidens there, 
" At the beautiful world, so fresh and fair, 
From which we are shut, day after day! 
Oh, what would I give to go or stay, 
Hither and thither, away at my will ! 
To follow and follow over the hill, 
Where birds are singing, and sheep-bells ringing, 
And lambkins over the grass are springing! 

" The meanest peasant may have his will, 
To follow and follow over the hill; 



1 82 THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 

But I, because I 'm a Princess born, 
In tiresome state from morn to morn 
Must wait, before I can go or stay, 
For lackey and guard to guide my way ! 
Oh, what would I give to have my will 
For once, just once, and over the hill, 
And through the long, sweet meadowy grass 
To scamper, as free as a peasant lass ! " 

What was it? — Did somebody whisper there? 
Or was it a bird that, skimming the air, 
Wickedly dropped a secret word 
That nobody but the Princess heard? 
For up from broidery-frame and book 
She suddenly springs with a joyous look. 
"And listen!" she cries, " oh, listen to me! 



THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 1 83 

This is a day of victory ! 
For this day year the good news came 
That the brave French troops had put to shame 
The Spanish foe, and I heard him say — 
My father, the King — that on this day, 
Sinner and saint, year after year, 
Should wander free, with never a fear, 
On the King's highway, till the sun had set." 
She laughed a light, low laugh. " T is yet 
Two hours and more ere the sun goes down, 
And the King comes back from the market-town, 
Where he went this morn, — two hours and more ; 
And the gate is wide at the castle door ! " 

They pranked themselves from head to foot 
In gay disguise, — a page's boot 



1 84 THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 

And doublet fine to take the place 
Of silken shoon and the flowing grace 
Of a satin gown. Then down they bore, 
These maiden troops, to the castle door. 

The grim old warders frowned and stared, 
The pages laughed, the maids looked scared. 
But the merry girl-troopers carried the day, 
For who should say a Princess "Nay"? 
" But what if the King should come ? " one said, 
Shaking her little golden head; 
" What if the King should come, alack ! 
Before we are safely, snugly back?" 

The Princess stopped in her merry race. 

" The King? " she cried, with an arch grimace, 



THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 1 85 

" Let the King be told, if the King forgets, 
That through this day, till the June sun sets, 
The broad highway is an open way, 
Where the Princess takes her holiday." 

Then over the hills and into the hollow 
Where sheep-bells ring, they follow and follow. 
The sun is fierce and the wind is strong, 
Yet " Hither, come hither ! " the shepherd's song 
Beckons and beckons, now low, now loud. 
But the white dust blows in a swirling cloud, 
And who would have thought the way so long 
To follow and follow a shepherd's song? 

For it looked so near, the way he went, 
When one from a palace window leant, 



1 86 THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 

So near, so near, — and now so far 
The palace window shines like a star; 
And the meadowy grass that smelled so sweet, 
How it trips and tangles the tender feet ! 
And the hills that seemed so smooth are set 
With stubble and thorn that prick and fret. 

" Heigh-ho, and heigh-ho ! " the Princess cries, 

As she brushes the blinding dust from her 
eyes; 

" Suppose we turn on our homeward way; 

It must be near to the set of day ! " 

Torn and draggled, the little pack 

Of truant troopers wandered back, — 

Torn and draggled, weary and spent, 

Older and wiser than when they went. 



THE PRINCESS'S HOLIDAY. 1 87 

The Princess gained her chamber door, 
And out of her window leaned once more. 
" Heigh-ho, and heigh-ho ! " she softly sighed, 
"The world is fair and the world is wide 
For peasant and prince; but let who will 
Follow and follow over the hill; 
I Ve had enough, for one long day, 
Of my own sweet will and the King's highway ! " 



THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 

" QUICK, quick, shut the gates ! " the Saxon 
lords cried, 

" And blow from the tower a blast far and wide, 

To tell all the people, from courtier to clown, 

That the Hussites are coming to storm the good 
town. 

" We '11 teach the bold braggarts what Naumberg 
can stand ! 

We '11 show them how Saxon lords fight for their 
land! 

And storm as they may, from sunrise to sunset, 

They '11 find that we 're more than a match for 
them yet." 



THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 1 89 

Outside of the gates that shut in the town, 

Along by the hillsides, they came riding down, — 

These handsome " bold braggarts," who laughed 
as they sped, 

For bold as they rode, there rode at the head 

One bolder than all, who laughed with the best, 

And vowed as he laughed that this Naumberger 
nest 

Should open its gates, ere the new moon was old, 

To let in his troopers so gallant and bold. 

But the moon of that month waxed and waned to 
its length, 

And the gates were still shut 'gainst the bold 
troopers' strength. 



I9O THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 

" By my faith ! " quoth the chief, " if this be the 
way 

These Saxons hold out, we must bring them to 
bay 

"Without more ado at the point of the sword. " 

And straight into Naumberg he sent forth his 
word, 

That if, ere the end of the week had gone by, 

The gates were not wide open flung, they should 
die, — 

These Naumberger Saxons, who dared to deride 

His soldierly fame in their insolent pride. 

But the Naumbergers scornfully flung back his 
threat, 

Their fortress was strong, and not yet, ah ! not 
yet 



THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 191 

Would a Saxon lord yield to a Hussite's demand 

To rove at his will through the breadth of their 
land. 

Not yet, ah! not yet — but at last through the 
town 

The weak wail of hunger was heard up and 
down, 

And a council was called; but 'twas late in the 
day 

For the wise men of Naumberg to parley or pray 

With the foe they had dared to flout and to 
scorn, 

When their larders were stocked and their bins 
full of corn. 

Ah! what should they do in this terrible strait? 
They fearfully pondered behind the great gate. 



192 THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 

Then up spoke a voice had been silent before : 

" My lords, leave the children to settle this 
score — 

" Nay, nay, hear me out," the rash speaker cried ; 
" This chief of the Hussites whom we have defied, 
This iron-mailed warrior, doth keep, I am told, 
A soft heart for children, like Brian the Bold. 

" So what if we gather the flowers of our flock, 

And tell them to speed, when the gates we unlock, 

To the arms of the gay jolly chief, who awaits 

To feed and protect them beyond the great 
gates?" 

There was shaking of heads, and question and 
doubt, 

But it ended at last in the prettiest rout 



THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 1 93 

Of merry-faced creatures who thought it fine 
fun 

Once more from the town-gates to scramble and 
run. 



" Ho, ho! what is this?" the General cried, 
As down the green path the rout he espied ; 
" What army of pygmies is this that I see 

Coming down the green valley to charge upon 

me?" 

He laughed as he spoke, and they laughed at 
him back; 

Then all in a moment the whole merry pack 

Flew at him and clutched him with shouts and 
with cheers, 

Till his jolly red face was streaming with tears. 

13 



194 THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 

'T was a great joke, he thought, that the chil- 
dren should run 

To the enemy's camp in their innocent fun. 

Did they clamber the walls as they clambered 
his back, — 

The jovial, rollicking, riotous pack? 

But however they came, for the moment at least, 

They were guests, to be served with a suitable 
feast ; 

And what was so suitable, what was so sweet, 

To serve to these runaway rogues for a treat, 

As a feast of the cherries that luscious and red 

Hung down from the clustering boughs over- 
head? 

They crept to his knees by twos and by threes, 

They swarmed at his feet like bonny bright bees, 



THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 1 95 

As over the cherries they feasted together, 
Down in the valley that sweet summer weather. 
But long ere the end of the gay feast, forsooth, 
The jolly, bold General knew the whole truth 

Of the pitiful straits in the old Naumberg town ; 

And he said to himself, " By the King and his 
Crown, 

I can't see the dear children suffer like this ! " 

And presently turning to each with a kiss, 

He bade them good-by, 'twixt a smile and a 
frown ; 

Then gathered his forces, and straight from the 
town, 

When the night-shades had fallen across the 
bright day, 

He rode with his handsome bold troopers away. 



I96 THE CHILDREN'S CHERRY-FEAST. 

So the long siege was raised ; and year after year 
Old Naumberg has kept that summer day dear; 
And year after year the children hold fete 
In a gay Feast of Cherries outside the great gate. 



University Press : John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 



